


the pulsing rush of longing

by blastellanos



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Choking, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: Honestly, just based onthis





	the pulsing rush of longing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



> Title is from The Iliad.

James isn't particularly fond of the fact that they have to share rooms like they're back in the minor leagues again. He tries to be a good teammate, honestly, and not grumble too much about it. But they couldn't even put him in with one of the pitchers, or with Hicks, someone who he had at least some modicum of something in common with. 

At most, they'd both settled into their roles as veterans on the teams, and José had come into his own as a captain on the team which despite their difference, James could appreciate. But the idea of sharing a room with him is less than appealing. 

After all, José's a little high energy, a little like a hyperactive child, whose always gotta be doing something. Always gotta be singing or recording, or taking pictures. Documenting his life like he's going to forget it as soon as it's done happening. James doesn't live like that-- though he supposes by proxy he is, considering the way Jess posts about the twins, which has meant that James has been a bit more taking pictures and posting on social media. 

Sometimes, he posts dumb pictures he knows Jess will see, that'll make her life when she's stuck at home and he's elsewhere. Like the picture of him flexing. 

James doesn't think about José much, but he'd noticed that he hadn't liked that photo. Not the he cared if José liked his photos. Or if it'd taken him a long time to follow him back. Not that he noticed that José rarely liked photos that was both him and Jess. 

James didn't care about that either, it was just _interesting_. 

(If anyone asked, he noticed the liking habits of all of his teammates; he definitely did that.) 

James can't check every notification, either, but he certainly doesn't specifically looking for the flame-red of José's logo. (Who had their own branded logo anyways?) 

James, of course, doesn't think about José that much at all-- which was part of why rooming with him was going to be so obnoxious. After all, what would they even talk about? James trudges up the stairs, feeling almost like he should go stay at another hotel. 

Maybe pretend like their personal differences are too much to overcome, and that he had to have a space of his own. He stands in front of the door with his room key, twirling it in his fingers idly. 

James doesn't wait for much longer, mostly because he feels like an idiot just standing in the hallway. 

James lets himself in. 

The room is dark except the blue tinge glow of a screen and José's there, inside, oblivious. He has a pair of bright orange beats that are piping out music loud enough that James can hear it, so it has to be deafening to José. 

José hasn't noticed him come in. Which is _bad_ because if he had, common decency would have made him cover himself. José's shorts are around his knees and his cock is hard, glistening a little in the light, and he's stroking himself with slow careful movements. 

José's mouth is moving to the song, his hand is moving dexterously, twisting a little on the upstroke. James should stop watch and he's ready to go -- ready to leave José and give him his privacy until he sees it. 

The screen is a laptop and James moves a little to see what it is. Just morbid curiosity. James goes over scenarios in his head but nothing could have compared him for what he sees stretched on the screen. 

He recognizes himself. Recognizes the picture he posted from Jackie Robinson day. José's tongue is bubblegum pink, poking out between his lips and his dark eyes are darting over the screen like he can't decide what to focus on, occasionally slipping shut, dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks. 

There's red slashed there. 

And it hits James like a fastball to the chest. José is jerking himself off to a picture of James. 

José is jerking himself off to him. 

James suddenly feels a little dizzy. 

He's not sure what to do exactly about it and he stands there nearly hypnotized, watching José's hand move over his cock steadily, while just -- looking at him. It's -- 

It's flattering and embarrassing. 

He should be mad, he should demand an answer. But he feels rooted to the spot, watching. 

José murmurs quietly to himself, mumbled Spanish. 

"James…" José moans his name out and James's cock twitches with interest. 

He's _not_ interested. 

James watches the flex of muscles in José's forearm and in his bicep, the way his lashes flutter, and the way his chest heaves, and the bead of precome on the head of his cock. José's mouth falls open, his thighs quiver and José squeezes around the base of his cock and his whole body shivers. 

José reaches out and switches the image on the screen. 

James recognizes it's him again, too, one of the many pictures he's got online -- this one of him from the back. MCCANN stretched across his shoulders and his baseball pants clinging to his backside. 

José resumes stroking himself in earnest. 

James thinks maybe he should leave, come back a little later, when maybe José has had enough time to finish everything. Unfortunately, that isn't the case because he feels absolutely transfixed. His cock is twitching in his jeans, swelling. 

It's horrible, honestly. James is married, he doesn't like men, he definitely doesn't like José even if he did like men. But he feels drawn in and compelled by the way his hand moves over himself, the fact that José looks at the images of James with heat in his eyes. 

With _desire_. 

James feels he should be good. It shouldn't be difficult for him to behave himself. To make a conscious decision to be good, like he usually is, and give José his privacy. These thoughts spin in his head and he banishes them like someone would flies at a picnic. 

He should bring attention to himself. 

James swallows against the dryness of his throat and makes a decision. He knows in his heart he's going to behave himself. 

That he won't give in to this strange, unnecessary desire. 

That he won't make a decision that will impact the rest of his days negatively. 

He reaches forward, over José, and shuts the screen on his laptop. It makes José startle, headphone noise cutting off as the connection to the computer is shut. 

James knows he should say to not do that again, that it's sinful, that James doesn't like it. He opens his mouth to say those words. 

"Why look at that when ya got the real thing?" His own arousal makes his drawl more pronounced and he watches as José looks surprised, for a moment, embarrassed maybe-- angry maybe but he chews on his lower lip and there's a silence that stretches on between the two of them. 

Before José lets go of his thick cock, and slides the headphones off of his ears. They clatter to the floor. James isn't sure how he hears it over the rushing in his ears. 

José moves his laptop off his knees and uses his foot to push the table away from the couch and then he beckons James over, still quiet. 

James doesn't know why he goes without protest. 

James doesn't know why he's doing any of this without question, without saying it needs to stop. Or why he'd said what he said in the first place, when he should have been admonishing José for this; telling him that it was sick and wrong-- that it wasn't something he should be doing with regards to a teammate. 

But he goes to stand in front of José. 

Sees that he hasn't made any effort to cover himself, or get himself looking decent. He's still all dark-eyed, lips near cherry red and wet with saliva, cock still hard and held in his hand. 

James thinks he should be stern, demanding, telling José that he has to stop. 

Instead, James waits. 

"Take your shirt off." José says. James frowns, he hesitates-- but it's fractional, and he peels his shirt over his head and tosses it to the bed beside him. He feels nearly self-conscious as José eyes scan over him, back and forth, like he's taking it all in. 

"Can you do like in the photo?" José asks. He nods to his closed computer and James runs his tongue over his lower lip, and thinks about not doing it. He thinks about-- 

About a lot of things he could do, to say, to think. 

Instead, James raises his arms and flexes like in the picture, curling his arm and feeling the tightness. José shifts forward in his seat a little and slides his hand over his cock. 

James can hear the noise that José lets out, a soft little whimper that's almost covered up by the ambient sound of the room-- but not quite. 

"Come closer." José says and James frowns, but does, dropping the pose as he moves over, as José kicks off the shorts he had around his knees, and spreads his legs a little wider. He beckons with his other hand, to bring James in more. He goes. 

James thinks he shouldn't, but he does, until he can feel the press of José's knees against his skin. José looks up at him, and nods in approval, makes a motion for him to flex again. James thinks he shouldn't, but he does. 

And José sits up a little, still holding his cock, but he brings his other hand up and strokes it over James's arm. 

"What're you doing?" 

"Feeling." José says, he sounds reverent, like he's touching something beautiful, something sacred. It makes James feel funny, it makes his heart pound behind his ribcage, like he's getting into something dangerous. James doesn't know if he wants this, but something is making him not say no. 

Something is keeping him right where he is. 

James focuses on the gentle track of José's fingernails over the curve of his bicep, and down his forearm. 

"God, you big." José murmurs, cheeks flushing a little darker. "Look at you. Looking like-- fuck, like a painting." 

James, despite himself, laughs. 

"What?" James asks and José smiles too, all white teeth. He's got a gorgeous smile, James knows he shouldn't notice that. 

"You-- like a renaissance?" José tries and James laughs again, he feels too hot all of a sudden and like this is far more intimate than it needs to be. It scares James. He realizes that the pounding in his chest is partially fear. But he doesn't run away. He keeps his post, flexing for José. 

He drops his gaze quickly, just enough to see the bead of precome at José's slit, the way he's still squeezing himself. He looks back at his face-- it's not better. 

It is better but--

"You understand?" José asks. James smiles at him. 

"Yeah, I understand." 

José flashes him another smile. 

"Got on your knees, I wanna-- please." José asks and James complies. He keeps flexing, but he slides to his knees, looks at how close he is now. José slides more forward and nudges the head of his cock against James's stomach. 

José squeezes the muscle there and James can feel his cock twitch. 

"Oh my god, it's good." José groans out. He digs his fingers into James bicep and he can feel him fisting his cock again, the bump of his hand against his stomach, the smear of dampness of sticky precome as José strokes himself, rubbing against James's stomach. 

James's breathing is rough. He shouldn't like this, shouldn't want it, shouldn't need it like he needs oxygen. It feels so good, though, James's eyes slide shut and he just feels it, pressing against James's stomach, his cock slipping a little and pressing into his belly button. 

James swallows back a moan and glances at where José's still gripping his bicep, hard enough the skin is going white. James chews on his lower lip. 

José looks like he's seeing heaven or something, mouth hanging open, dark eyes wide and cheeks flushed. He's staring at James's arm like it's the only thing he's been looking for. 

James doesn't think anyone's ever quite looked at him like that. 

He's not sure if he likes it, if the itchy feeling between his shoulder blades is a fight or flight instinct or something else. He wants-- he doesn't know what he wants. But he wants this, for whatever reason. 

José looks at James's face, looking like he's assessing something-- looking like he's looking for something. James doesn't know what he's looking for. But he must find it, his mouth moves like he wants to speak and it takes a few moments but-- 

"Hold me down." José says. 

"What?" James asks, surprised again. Like someone threw him a curve ball. 

"Please." 

James drops his pose and puts his hands on José's shoulders and pushes him back, presses him against the back of chair, until he can hear it creaking with the force of it. He feels José struggle a little, mostly to test it, and then his head falls back-- showing the nice line of his throat. James feels his pace get faster, José's stroking himself in earnest now. 

It's good-- so fucking good. James pins José down harder just to hear the little desperate noises he's making, the way he says _por favor_ under his breath, begging and begging. For more and more, as James pins him backwards, and José thrusts against his stomach. 

"It's good?" James asks, his voice sound thick and strange to his own ears. He's hard, he should be embarrassed. 

"So good." José murmurs and pushes against him some more, James feels José strain and so he holds him down harder. José starts stroking himself faster. 

"Think about you doing this. Holding me down. Putting your big hands around my throat. Crushing me between your massive thighs. I think all the time-- how fucking good it would be. How much I want it. If-- if you let me." 

James chews his lower lip harder so he keeps back the first thing that comes to his mind, which is he'd _gladly_ do it. Chews on his lower lip until he can respond reasonably. 

"I'm married, Iggy." James tries to gentle his tone. 

"Not asking to be your wife, Mac." José responds, his tone still rough and desperate. "Just wanna-- wanna have some fun. Is all." 

James digs his fingertips into José's shoulders. 

"It's a bad idea…" 

José doesn't stop, James can hear his breathing getting more and more labored, like he's almost there. So he digs his fingertips in harder. 

"Is a great idea. You can-- you can hurt me, mark me up, just wanna feel you bearing me down. Just wanna feel all your muscles pinning me down, wanna come all over your body, wanna rub off on you. Want to-- fuck." 

James wonders if praying would be a good idea. He wants this-- he wants to give José what he wants. Instead, he slides his hand over and wraps it around José's throat, feels the way he inhales like he's running a marathon. James presses in harder and José strokes himself faster. 

James knows José is close and he's thrilled by it. He needs it-- to feel him come all over his stomach. He feels the desire hot in the back of his throat. He's going to come, to James, to-- because of his body, because of what he's doing to him. 

"You close?" James asks and he strokes his damp curls off of his forehead. José can't really reply, he's struggling for air, James can feel him swallowing against his hand on his throat, It's good, it's so fucking good and he shouldn't want more. 

José nods though and he keeps stroking himself, faster, working against James's stomach still. 

"Come on, babe," James murmurs to him, "You look so good right now, you look so fucking hot. Next time I'm gonna choke you on my dick." 

José whines and James can feel it, vibrating against his hand, and then James feels José tense, and he feels him come all over his stomach. It's surprising, and it's so good. José jerks himself off through the aftermath, rutting against James's stomach as he tries to cry out with James still cutting off his air. 

James pulls back after a moment and looks down at José, he looks sated-- eyes still dark, tears glistening on his lashes, and a visible red mark around his neck like a necklace. James looks down at his own stomach and José swipes his fingers through it. 

James is hard, tenting the front of his jeans and he wants-- but what he wants, he can't ask for. 

"Go to sleep." James tells José and then he disappears into the bathroom. 

James turns the shower on and hopes that José doesn't hear. He steps under the spray and takes himself in hand and wishes his mind didn't wander to his dark eyes and beautiful skin and dark hair. He wishes he didn't _want_. 

He bites the inside of his mouth so that he doesn't call out José's name when he comes. 

And he hopes that José's not still awake when he gets out of the shower. He spends too much time afterwards, toweling off, making sure that he doesn't show any signs of anything-- he's good. He's married, he doesn't want to have more. 

James slips back into the main room, the lights are off, and José looks like he's sleeping so James doesn't think anything will be too bad, or too awkward. James hopes. 

He can't make that mistake again even if it was-- god. 

James tries to put it from his mind and he closes his eyes. 

He doesn't dream about José's dark eyes.


End file.
